What Doesn't Kill You
by InsideTheLocket
Summary: Cassandra Wells, a forensic scientist in Gotham City, has a run in with the infamous Joker, leading to a chain of events that may change her forever.
1. Chapter 1

**I do NOT own Batman (or any of the characters associated with the Batman franchise)**

_**... Simply makes you stranger.**_

"_Now that wasn't so hard, was it, Dollface?"_

_I'm dead. Oh. My. God. I'm dead! He killed me, I'm dead!_

_Wow. _That_ wasn't redundant. Ugh this hurts... Wait, if I'm dead how am I hurting? This is weird._

_Man it's dark. Shouldn't there be a light or something I'm supposed to walk into? Hmmm... Ah! Crap, ouch._

_Are my eyes even open? Let's see... Ha, punny._

I opened my eyes and squinted at the light filtering in above my head, ears ringing. I was lying on my back. With a little gasp and groan of pain I tried to get myself up on one elbow, but found that I could barely move my left arm. It felt like it might fall off if I did. I coughed a few times, making the dust swirl up around me (and out of my lungs). My shoulder was stiff and unbearably sore. I reached back and felt the dried blood and the small hole where a bullet had pierced it. I vaguely remembered that this pain wasn't as bad as before. _Oh, shit..._ I thought, _Maybe I'm just not fully awake yet…_ If that was the case, I couldn't help but want to stay a little dazed.

"Where the hell am I?" My voice croaked.

I struggled to get up into a sitting position and tried to remember what happened before I got here... wherever here was...

"Ouch! Agh... Damn!" I winced and tried to assess my injuries:_ Lots_ of Scratches and bruises, a couple of deeper cuts, the worst of which were on my left thigh and right arm, which, thankfully, were mostly covered. I pressed my hand to the cut on my leg to try and stop what little bleeding there was and tried not to move much. I didn't know whether or not I had a concussion, but there was a huge bump on my head and it felt like my brain was trying to escape my skull. With a sledgehammer.

It hurt to look at the light, and one of my eyes wouldn't open all the way, so I reached up towards it and, "Ah crap..." Swollen? Yes. Black? Most likely.

I tasted blood and felt around my mouth with my tongue. I still had all my teeth, thank God, but I had apparently bitten my cheek pretty hard. I had a split lip, too. I smiled a little, trying not to make it worse, _I look like shit that got hit by a train. _I thought, _But, hey, I'm alive._

My eyes adjusted and I realized that it wasn't as bright as I thought, and that I was surrounded by rubble and debris.

Suddenly, everything flooded back at once; I remembered the night's events with a gruesome vividness

* * *

><p>I walked down the dimly lit street, it was late, I really shouldn't have been out in this part Gotham now, but I couldn't have passed up this opportunity.<p>

My name's Cassandra Wells. I work as a forensic scientist. In case you don't know what that is, I bring the bad guys down with the evidence they leave behind at the crime scene and process it in the lab. All that good stuff you see on CSI, only it's real, and not as life-threateningly dramatic. The reality of it, however, is that it's not as easy and quick a process as they make it seem, and my God, the _paperwork_. Nonetheless, I helped get cases resolved through exploration, leads, and thinking through what made the villains tick or tock, to get to those final, satisfying words, "Case closed." I was a trained professional with a degree in kicking ass. Literally. (But I try not to toot my own horn too much)

The station had recently gotten a tip that there would be some kind of deal tonight, from an anonymous source. The man was was specific as to exactly where and when it was, but not who or what it involved. It was odd but it seemed promising; dangerous and probably a trap, but promising.

We were, surprisingly, a bit short staffed tonight, and, not-so-surprisingly for Gotham, quite busy. We needed somebody to go check it out. So I asked Commissioner Gordon that I go on my own so that everyone else could handle what they needed to. He, in turn, insisted that I go with my cell phone (duh, it never leaves my sight), and a gun. To which I agreed. Honestly I didn't exactly like the idea of shooting at someone. But I didn't have a problem with putting some holes in a target at the shooting range. I was pretty good at it, too. I really didn't think I'd get into that much trouble; my plan was to call him for help when I found the dealers, and hopefully to find out what was going on. I knew that a team would be nearby, so I would just stay hidden and call in for an arrest if my hunch was correct.

I was so deep in thought that I hadn't realized that I stopped walking, so I chugged on ahead, looking around and internally shaking my head at my spacey self. I had to stay focused.

The shadows in the nearby alleys flickered and jumped in menacing ways, causing paranoia begin to surmount control over my thoughts, so I started singing in my head. I loved singing, and just about anything having to do with the arts and the like. It calmed me down and allowed me to let out the urge to do something creatively "inspired".

I was only a block or so away from my destination, the thought of which made me even more jittery. I felt like I was absorbing caffeine from the sidewalk with each step, and I can't really deal with large amounts of caffeine. Eventually I began to whisper to the song. Way to be stupid.

"Well it's a marvelous night for a Moondance,

With the stars up above in your eyes,

A fantabulous night to make romance,

'Neath the cover of October skies,

And all the leaves on the trees are falling,

To the sound of the breezes that blow,

And I'm trying to please to the calling,

Of your heart strings that play soft and low

And all the night's magic seems to whisper and hush

And all the soft moonlight seems to hide in your blush—"

"Can I just have one more Moondance with you, my love?" A masculine voice cut me off at the chorus.

_Fuck! _I jumped at the sudden interruption and looked in the direction of the voice. Not twenty feet away from me a man wearing a suit danced out from an alley hand outstretched towards me as if really asking me to dance. My eyes widened as he waltzed a few steps closer to me in a peculiar, almost insane manner. I couldn't see him very well, he was in the dark, but I wasn't, so I imagined he could see me just fine. I tried to step back out of the spotlight.

On the inside, I was freaking out, but I kept up a calm façade. This guy doesn't know anything about me. To him, I'm not with the police; I'm not carrying a gun; I'm just some chick who's in the wrong place at the wrong time. I squinted at him, "Who are you?" I asked. In retrospect, that was definitely _not_ the question to be asking. While it might be possible that feigning innocence could be a good strategy, why was I acting like a helpless horror movie character?

He started laughing for no discernable reason; a haunting, unreasonably intimidating noise. I remembered it from somewhere, but before I could think on it more I noticed that he closer than I wanted him to be. I stepped back again and he seemed to find this even funnier. The jittery feel the adrenaline starting to work its way into my bloodstream began to override my senses. Silently I hoped he couldn't see how afraid I was.

I remembered the gun tucked into the back of my pants and reached for it slowly, trying to be as inconspicuous as humanly possible; easier now that I wasn't under the street light. He was way too close for comfort now, and my foot twitched backwards in response. By the looks of things, particularly his demeanor, size, and gait, it seemed smarter to flee than to fight. I squeaked slightly as he closed what little distance there was left between us. I had to stand my ground if I wanted to know who this guy was.

He giggled, stifling his laughter, just barely getting out a sentence "What's a pretty little thing like you doing in this side of town, hmm?"

His face, curtained by curly, most likely (you couldn't quite tell for the grunge of it) dirty blonde hair was ghost white with eyes black as pitch, a worn purple suit jacket and matching dress pants covered a green, oddly hexagon patterned vest. But the main thing that I noticed was his mouth, smeared bright red into a terrifyingly unnatural wide smile. _The_ smile.

My eyes widened and my jaw dropped.

"It's not polite to stare." he said menacingly, the laughter dropping from his voice, "Now answer me!"

I couldn't believe it. I was standing on the street in one of the _worst_ parts of town front of _the Joker_.

SMACK!

I sprawled out onto the asphalt from the stinging backhand, I sucked in a breath and looked away, holding my cheek. He didn't seem to like that.

"Look at me!" he yelled, jerking me back up off the ground by the arms, his eyes full of malice.

"_You_ said not to stare, Dipshit! Make up your damn mind!" I shouted back, glaring up at his make-up covered face. He opened his mouth as if he was going to say something back, but instead he chuckled and examined me more closely, narrowing his eyes. I didn't move and tried to keep that headstrong expression on my face. My gaze wandered to his lips; the scars on both sides, and the one that broke the line of his bottom lip, smothered in red. I was just full of mistakes today wasn't I?

A menacingly gleeful grin stretched across his painted mouth. I squirmed, causing him to tighten his already iron grip.

He shoved me up against the brick, "You _are_ a pretty little thing aren't you?"

My breath caught and got faster as he put a dark gloved hand to my face. My eyes frantically zipped around their sockets, searching like a trapped animal for an escape. He squeezed the tops of my arms and I looked back at him, realizing that our noses were practically touching, and his body was almost pressed flush against mine. I could hear my heart pounding in my head and blood rushing in my ears. I saw his jaw set and his mouth scrunch into a frown. His eyes narrowed as he scrutinized my features.

I have _no idea_ why I didn't just shoot him; maybe simply because that would've been the smart thing to do. In my defense I must say that I'm a usually pretty smart person, but I can be a bit stubborn and thickheaded every once and a while, take now for instance.

It seemed like an eternity before he broke the silence with a hazardous chuckle. He swung me around from the wall and grabbed my hand and placed his other one behind my shoulder, "Do you dance?" He asked.

Compelled to answer him, since it would likely keep me alive at this point, I nodded slowly, keeping my eyes locked on his. He barked a loud laugh and spun me around. I quickly caught my balance and matched his steps. We swung around in an unnatural fashion with no particular beat in a way that I suppose was dancing, my confusion growing. We went on with our swirling waltz for a little while when he suddenly stopped and held me out from him, searching my face, "You seem a little nervous. Is it the scars?"

I tensed and my eyes widened, _Oh shit… _I thought; from what I had heard, most people didn't live through the story. He pulled out a knife and held it in front of my nose, his eyes flicking once from me to the silver surface and back. I could see my reflection in the blade, I looked scared half to hell... Oh, right, I was.

"You wanna know how I got 'em?"

_Not particularly…_ I thought, but I didn't say anything, so he went on with his story:

"You see, when I was a kid, I never rea—Oof!"

I cut him off by kicking him where the sun don't shine and jumped backwards, gun loaded and in hand, pointed at his figure, which was doubled over laughing. He looked up at me, still giggling, and I glared back, making sure my weapon was pointed at him at all times as he stood up straight. No more horror movie protagonist for this girl.

"Someone's a little feisty! I like that…" he said. He looked at the gun, and then at me, still smiling, and chuckled a few times. I felt like I was about to heave as I constricted my hand around the grip of the gun, actually holding on for dear life.

He snorted, "Do it."

Okay, I wasn't exactly expecting that. I let my guard down for a moment, baffled, but snapped out of it, pointing the gun at him again, hoping he hadn't noticed, but that was too much of a stretch.

He snickered, "You've never shot someone before have you? I bet that's not even your gun."

"And how the hell would you know?" I spat, trying to hide the fact that he was half right.

"Then do it!" He yelled, taking a few steps forward, holding out his hands to say "hit me".

I stepped back to keep the distance and reached into my back pocket, grabbing my phone. I flipped it open behind my back and dialed the station's number (this is where texting too much can be a good thing). I didn't bother to say anything; Gordon would know that I wouldn't call at all unless I really needed him. I waited a few seconds after I very faintly heard someone on the other end said, "Hey, Cassie. What's up? You alright? Cassie?" And after a pause, something along the lines of "He's on his way."

I hung up and returned the phone to its spot in my butt pocket, moving my free hand to the gun, actually holding it correctly to try and look less like I was bluffing and more like I could actually shoot him, but the Joker still grinned. A chill crawled up my spine, standing the hair on the back of my neck straight up and pricking my scalp with pins and needles. I was next to an alley now, and running sounded _awesome_. After a moment more of our stare-down, I sprinted into the opening and _prayed to God_ it went all the way through to the next street. My legs felt like they belonged to someone else as my feet pounded the ground, adrenaline pumped through my veins and pushed me harder towards—

A fence?

"No!" I shrieked

I slowed down to a jog until I heard someone—no, _multiple _someones—running in my direction. I didn't bother to look back and started to climb up the fence. I was almost at the top when I realized that there was barbed wire above me.

_Really?_ I mentally shouted. _Now_ I looked back. Three goons were running down the alley towards me. I no longer cared about the barbed wire and began to climb over it. I tried to jump down but my shirt caught one of the barbs, which made me fall flat on my back and knocked the wind out of me.

I rolled over, gasping for air and coughing, and tried to get up. I scrambled away on my hands and knees for a moment when I heard someone hit the fence and The Joker's laugh, "Look at the little rat scurry away! AHAHAHAHAHAAA!"

I got back up onto my feet and turned to run again.

BANG!

I saw a small plume of dirt rise from the ground out of the corner of my eye. A couple more mini explosions rose up I tripped and fell on my stomach. Leave it to me to be clumsy in a time of dire need.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

_Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!_ I covered my head with my arms. _They have a really bad aim,_ I thought. Too soon.

"Give me that!"

BANG!

"Gaah!" I screamed as the bullet pierced my shoulder.

Have you ever been shot? I hope you never have, and I hope you never will, because it is probably the worst pain I've ever personally felt in my life, and every time you try to move it starts all over. This was worse than breaking my leg in fifth grade. Worse than having my earring ripped out in a fight in eighth. Worse than getting stabbed in the dark, walking home from classes... I could feel blood starting to leak onto my shirt. I tried to get up but fell again when my arm failed to support me, which hurt even more. My attempts to fend off panic as I scooted over towards one of the brick walls of the alley weren't working. I leaned on it to help me up and tried to run again before the inside of my shoulder felt like it had caught on fire. I slowed and screamed again when I heard his laugh. For the first time I was enraged as opposed to fearful, and the grip of the gun in my right hand was no longer tenuous.

"SHUT UP!" I roared. I pulled my gun back up.

One, click.

Two, click.

Three, click.

Four, click.

Five, click.

The Joker stopped laughing for a moment in surprise as we both watched the three other men hit the ground.

My eyes widened. "Oh God…" I staggered back a few steps, my ears ringing. I put my hand over my mouth and nearly dropped the gun beside me. My nose and eyes stung, I could feel the blood rushing to my face and the watering of my eyes.

No.

I wasn't going to cry in front of this sick bastard_._ I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. I wouldn't let him know what I was feeling. I couldn't. I glared at his figure and pointed my gun up at him. I was going to shoot this man and end it all right now.

He laughed. He laughed, and laughed, and laughed at me. I squeezed the trigger and saw his laughter to cut off; watched the surprise on his face and the hand go up to the hole the bullet punched into him; watched him fall to the ground and die there in the dirt and blood. I squeezed the trigger harder and felt the gun go off, felt the reverberation in my hands and travel up my arms. It made my shoulder hurt like hell, but I didn't care. This killed him.

Only it didn't.

The gun clicked once. Empty. I must have miscounted and unloaded the thing. I wished so much for a bullet to spontaneously appear in the clip, but it wouldn't, no matter how intensely I willed it to. I pulled the trigger again and again in my disbelief. There was no way I could let him walk away from this. He should have died. I yelled in anger, a sound raw and shocking to my own ears.

He grinned and said "Now that wasn't so bad, was it, Dollface?"

He turned on his heel and walked away, almost bouncing, humming "Moondance" as he did. I watched him toss a few things into the air. Each one fell with a clunk and I squinted to see what they were. What was that saying? Curiosity killed the cat? Well, it came pretty close. I realized what it was just a millisecond too late. I scrambled up to run and got a pretty good distance away before—

BOOM!

Apparently not _enough_ of a good distance. The bombs he dropped packed enough punch that I was knocked down onto my front. I curled up into a ball and got as small as I could. I heard the already dilapidated buildings that I was so miserably stuck between begin to fall around me. Something—a brick probably—hit me in the back of my head and I blacked out.

There wasn't anything left to remember.

* * *

><p>Hey, guys!<p>

This is my first fanfiction here, and I'm not going to keep you here too long, but I'd just like to say that feedback is appreciated and I hope you enjoyed it!


	2. Chapter 2

I do NOT own Batman or any characters related to the Batman franchise

**... Simply makes you Memorable  
><strong>

I shuddered, his laughter echoing inside of my head, that maniacal smile and those pitch black eyes were burned into the backs of my eyelids.

I decided to try and get out of my dusty prison when I noticed the red and blue flashes for the first time. I listened and could faintly hear my name being called. So Gordon _had _come to save me after all. I tried to figure out a way to give them a sign of some sort, so I stuck my good arm out of one of the holes above and waving for a few minutes. I doubted anyone could see it, so I tried getting their attention vocally, "Hey! Over here! Hey!"

I cleared my throat, coughing up dust or just disrupting that which had settled around me, I wasn't sure and yelled a little more. This went on for a few minutes until I heard footsteps near my cave. I waved my hand more vigorously and got louder until: "Guys! This way! I think I found her!"

I sighed with relief and brought my hand back in as more footsteps came closer and there was more talking and grunts. I sighed with relief when I heard the sound of rocks being moved. A window of light opened up above me and a man, probably around twenty-five with blonde hair, green eyes, a small nose and pencil-thin lips peeked inside.

I looked up at him and gave a little wave, "Hey."

"Hey." He replied with a straight toothed smile, "We're gonna get you out of here, alright? Just stay there and keep calm, okay?"

"Not like I have a choice." I said. We both chuckled and his face went away. More chunks of debris moved and the window grew wider and wider.

"Can I come up now?" I asked; my back was starting to hurt from being in my hunched position.

"Can you stand?" Someone said

"I think so." I replied

"Okay. Somebody give her a hand."

"Here I come."

And with that, I, Cassie Wells, was pulled out of the hole and walked over to an ambulance. They gently sat me down on the back of the vehicle and checked me out while I looked around. It was almost daybreak. I looked at what was left of the alley from the night before… not much of an alley now, both of the buildings had almost completely been demolished and the fence was gone.

"How old were those buildings?" I asked one of the medics

"Pretty damn old. Nobody took care of 'em neither, so they were prob'ly gonna come down soon anyways." He replied in a heavy New York accent.

"There was a fence I climbed over between them. It had barbed wire on it… and I got shot." I said as he looked at the cuts on my thigh and arm.

He looked up at me, a little surprised. He looked at where I pointed on my shoulder. "'M glad you told me that."

He poked at it a little and asked me what hurt and what didn't. "You're a lucky girl." he said.

"I do what I can." I replied "Made sure I snatched the heads up penny on the sidewalk yesterday."

He chuckled, "Well you seem to be doing a'ight for someone who just got pulled out of a hole."

"Thanks." I smiled

"Here comes Gordon. We need to hurry and get you out of here and to the hospital." He said. I nodded and looked up to see the Commissioner walking towards me with a concerned look on his face. Gordon and I were pretty close.

"You okay Cass?" He asked

"Yeah, mostly." I looked over at the ambulance worker, "Right?"

He nodded and gave him a summary of my injuries. Gordon shook his head until he heard him say the magic words. "You got _what_?_"_

"Turns out I _did_ need the gun…" I said back with a shy look and a shrug (which wasn't smart, by the way. I tried to hide my grimace from him.)

"What the hell am I gonna do with you?" He asked

"Send me to the hospital, maybe?"

He sighed, "I guess so."

As a couple of men came over and packed up the ambulance I told Gordon about the people who did this. He looked surprised and told me we would talk later. The medics helped me up and sat me on the gurney, I didn't want to lie down yet, I'd be doing a lot of that at the hospital. I noticed that the ambulance smelled much the same as a hospital would, if not a bit more metallic.

One of the men jumped in with me and the other two went and sat in the front. The siren started up and we drove down the street. It didn't take long to get to the huge building. The man in the back with me told me to lie down on the gurney and they wheeled me inside and into the ER.

They put me out and removed the bullet without incident; it was apparently in a pretty perfect spot to not cause any real injury. They disinfected and dressed the hole and my cuts, cleaned me up, covered me in bandages, gave me a couple of shots and antibiotics, and put me in a room for the next couple of days.

Somehow my cell phone hadn't been crushed and was lying on a little tray next to my bed when I woke. I grabbed it and looked at the date and time, Monday, March 29th, 2011, 9:08 am. I had slept through an entire day. Two days since my run in with _him. _I shivered and looked at my missed calls.

Gordon- Sunday, March 28th, 2:27 am

Gordon- Sunday, March 28th, 3:04 am

Gordon- Sunday, March 28th, 3:42 am

Gordon didn't leave any messages, it looked like he just called and hung up after I didn't answer.

Amanda:)- Sunday, March 28th, 7:38 am

Amanda:)- Sunday, March 28th, 7:42 am

Amanda:)- Sunday, March 28th, 7:54 am

Amanda:)- Sunday, March 28th, 8:03 am

Amanda:)- Sunday, March 28th, 8:17 am

Amanda, one of my best friends, left a message every time. Always something along the lines of "Oh my Gosh, Cassie, where are you? Please pick up your phone! Come on Cassie, this isn't funny, Gordon called me, are you okay?" And so on.

Erick- Sunday, March 28th, 7:46 am

Erick- Sunday, March 28th, 7:59 am

Erick- Sunday, March 28th, 8:11 am

Erick- Sunday, March 28th, 8:21 am

Erick- Sunday, March 28th, 8:30 am

Eric was my other best friend. He left a message every time but the last one, where he probably got frustrated and gave up. Each of his sounded a lot like Amanda's. Amanda had also blown up my inbox before she started calling, and Eric had texted me quite a few times, as well.

Lastly there were a couple of calls from Alfred. Yes, Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce Wayne's Butler. We had met one day in the park. I was crying on a bench because my boyfriend of a little less than a year had just rather brutally dumped me; through a text message, in fact.

February 19, 2010. Cayllin Park. 12:19 pm.

I was walking down the sidewalk on a clear-blue-sky type day when I felt my cell phone vibrate in my pocket. I quickly pulled it out and flipped it open to a loading screen, finding a lengthy text message from Joey Roark, my boyfriend. I smiled… until I read it:

"Hey cassie i gotta tell you. I rlly dont think this is working out 4 us and i think we should see other people. Im srry, rlly, but I just dont feel the same way anymore. Youre a gr8 friend and im hoping that we can stay that way. I hope youll be able 2 move on like i have. Im sorry cassie. Goodbye babe i hope we can still talk."

For a second I thought it was a joke… but he wasn't one to do something like that. I denied it for the next few steps until I realized the full reality of it; I had been dropped like a hot brick.

I tried to think of what to say back, and after many unsent messages were deleted, I decided not to say anything back and clacked my phone shut, shoving it forcefully back into my pocket.

I slumped down onto a bench, glaring at the ground when I felt my nose start to sting. My vision got blurry and frustrated tears slid down my cheeks.

_ A text message? Really? _I thought, _Pull it together! If he did something like that he wasn't worth it anyway… and he has a horrible case of text lingo. _ I tried for the next couple of minutes to convince myself that I didn't need him and he had probably been cheating on me or something. The guy wasn't worth what a pig could spit and I needed to buck up.

"Who am I kidding?" I whispered to myself, giving up and letting a few more tears roll down my cheeks with my head in my hands before hearing a friendly, English accented voice,

"What would such a problem be that you would sit down on a park bench all alone like that?"

I looked up at him. He had silver-white hair and wrinkles to match, with eyes kind and blue, framed by laugh lines. He wore a pristine black and white suit and, for some reason, exceedingly reminded me of my late grandfather.

"What?"

"Well it seemed rather odd that someone would sit down and cry in public, so _something_ must be wrong. Or am _I_ wrong?"

I wiped my eyes and tried to get off some of the mascara that had smeared when I cried, "Well it seems rather odd that an Englishman in a suit would be walking down a sidewalk in Cayllin Park, but nothing's wrong with you is there?"

He chuckled, "No I suppose not." He sat down and asked again, "So what seems to be the trouble?"

I felt like I needed to talk to someone at the moment, and he seemed nice enough… I could have sworn that I knew him from somewhere though. I told him my short story quickly, because I knew that he probably had somewhere to be (hence the suit). He listened to the entire thing without interrupting once

At the end of my story he said, "Well if he ended it like _that_ then he was probably a no good anyway."

I smiled "Thanks."

He smiled back, but then he looked like he had just remembered something important. In an almost comical fashion he pulled back his sleeve and looked at his watch, then back up at me.

"Gotta go?" I asked

"Yes, I'm sorry, but I have a previous engagement that I must attend to. It was nice meeting you Miss…?"

"Wells. Cassandra Wells. And you are?"

He pulled out a card and handed it to me, "Alfred Pennyworth." He smiled, "Good day Miss Wells."

For a moment I didn't know what to say; Alfred Pennyworth? Bruce Wayne's butler?

I snapped out of it, "Good day Mr. Pennyworth."

He smiled and walked away as I stared at the little card, totally mesmerized by the leshmancy ink on the stationary.

I basically just got the number Gotham's most famous millionare.

I got over Joey Roark rather quickly after my meeting with Alfred, and had boyfriends on and off ever since. A few were somewhat long term, while others were kind of short. But one thing that remained true with each of them was that none of them broke up with me through a text message—if they were the ones doing the breaking up.

Alfred left a short, concerned message to say he was checking up and wanted to make sure I was alright and such.

I decided to call Amanda first; she'd probably be the most freaked out. I let out a slightly happy sigh as I dialed and sank a little into the hospital bed. I only had to wait for half of a ring before an excited and scared sounding Amanda answered the phone,

"Cassie? Oh, God, are you okay? Do you have _any idea _how worried I was? Gordon about gave me a heart attack when he said you were in the hospital! Why don't you answer your fu—"

I cut her off before she actually _did _have a heart attack, "Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry I had you so worried. And excuse me for being drugged up on a hospital bed."

She laughed, knowing that I _had _to be okay if I could be a smart-ass, "So is there anything really bad?"

"Nah, not too bad…" I replied

"Sure, okay..."

I ignored the skepticism in her voice, "Can you come visit tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow? Sure."

"Cool. I need to talk to Gordon… And I gotta call Erick, he's worried, too."

"Alright. See you soon."

"Okay. Bye!"

I hit the "end" button and was about to dial Erick's number when I heard raised voices out in the hallway. One of them was his. _Speaking of…_

"I have to see her." He said

"Sir, I'm sorry, but no one is seeing Ms. Wells right now," A woman's voice answered him, "you're going to have to—"

He must have gotten past her, because my door opened and he poked his head inside. He sighed with relief when he saw that I was awake, but his features turned furious when he saw my black eye and bandages. He started to come into the door when some of the hospital security came and grabbed him, "Sir, you're going to have to leave the building."

"Get off me, douche bag." He growled, he was going to say more but I told them that it was okay, he would only take a second. They seemed a little uneasy about it, but let him pass.

"Two minutes." said one of the guards. I thanked him and the two stood outside the door, leaving a slight opening.

He looked at me for a second and uneasily walked across the room. I looked back and smiled, "Hey, Erick."

He let out a sort of astonished laugh, "Wow… Hey. Listen, are you—"

I cut him off before he could start, "I'm fine, I promise. Sorry about them, I need to talk to Gordon before I do most anything. I just called Amanda a second ago, so she's informed. Don't be worried, okay? I'm alright." I smiled again and he seemed to relax a little. I held out my arms (careful of the bad one), "Hug?"

He chuckled and came forward, placing himself gingerly on the stiff-and-sterile matress to hold me. He did so as gently as he could, but still managed to hug me tightly, which I was glad for. We sat together for a little bit, but he broke the silence, "Cassie…"

"Yeah?"

"Don't you _ever_ do that to me again."

We both laughed. I could always tell when Erick got legitimately worried or upset; he wouldn't go to such an extent if he ever wasn't. And he surely wouldn't have called anyone a douche bag for no reason. I was glad he had come, I kind of needed him here.

The security guard knocked on the door and came in, "Sir—"

"I know. I'm coming." Erick stood up and squeezed my hand before he started towards the door.

"Hey," I called

He turned back, "Hm?"

"_Official _visiting hours are tomorrow. Amanda's coming." I laughed

He grinned, "Gotcha. See you soon." and was gone.

The guards left and I was alone again. I called Bruce Wayne's penthouse and left a message for Alfred from Cassie, saying that I was alright. I called the Commissioner.

"Hello?" Said Gordon

"Hey, Gordon, it's Cassie… I'm up!"

"Be there in a minute."

"Way to beat around the bush, Commissioner." I said sarcastically

He laughed at this, "It's my job." And we hung up.

I was secretly dreading his visit. I knew that he would want to know every gruesome detail of what happened. How the hell was I supposed to explain the fact that I had shot and killed three people just a few days ago? And hadn't found out anything that was going on at the supposed deal… Gordon didn't even know that The Joker—I shuddered at the thought of him—had been there. I took a deep breath to calm myself down and started to plan what to say and to try and remember every detail I could.

It didn't take long for Gordon to get there, or at least it didn't seem like it. When his knock on the door jolted me out of my structured daydreaming, I jumped and called, "Come in."

He opened the door and poked his reddish-brown head in the door before walking inside, his blue green eyes smiling. You would think that it wouldn't be possible for a face to seem both kind and professionally hardened, but somehow, Gordon did it.

"Jeez, when you said be here in a minute I thought you were being metaphorical." I said

He smiled and sat down in a chair next to my bed and I sat up straighter (with a slight wince).

"How're you doing?" Gordon asked

"Alright, I guess. And yourself?" I replied

Gordon looked concerned at the words "I guess" I didn't usually say stuff like that; I was normally sure of what I said and did.

"Fine." He said

"Where should I start?"

"How about the beginning?"

I chuckled "It's a very good place to start."

I began telling him what happened, and who it was that did all this. I watched his eyes widen as I told him that it was The Joker. He scanned my face, "What?"

"Yeah."

"Damn…" He looked pensive for a moment but told me to continue.

"He asked what a 'pretty little thing like me was doing in this side of town' I grabbed the gun you gave me, to try and bluff him. He smacked me and picked me back up and you know me, I was a smart-ass to him."

Gordon gave me a terrified look, as if questioning my sanity. I will admit, I could've handled that better. Then again, I'm alive now, aren't I?

I told him more of the story and watched as Gordon's eyes widened when I said that the Joker had asked me if I wanted to know how he got his scars. Gordon knew all about the premise of that story, and all the different versions that have been told.

"Before he could finish his first sentence I kicked him in the balls."

Gordon snorted.

"I pointed the gun at him and he tried playing with my head. That's when I called you guys. I ran in an alley and he and three of his goons chased me. There was a fence in the middle and I climbed over it, barbed wire and all." My brow furrowed, I was getting to the hard part…

"They started shooting at me…" I closed my eyes

Gordon's face showed a troubled and sympathetic look, "You wanna take a break?" he asked

"No. I'm okay…" I replied and looked back up at him

"You sure?"

"Yeah." I paused and began again, "They must have shot at least five times before Joker grabbed one of the guns he got me. Those guys back there… They were going to shoot again. I beat them to it. Gordon… I've never shot anyone before."

I silently cursed the precursor burning feeling that flooded my face and put my head in my hands. Gordon was shocked at the sight of my tears, since I wasn't one to cry in front of people. He patted my back and comforted me as best he could "It was them or you, Cassie." was all he could seem to say.

We sat there for a couple of minutes and I quickly regained my composure. "I dropped the gun. Joker threw some bombs behind him, which took down the buildings, where you found me."

He asked me some more questions to clear up as much as possible. He assured me that I more than likely wouldn't have to go to court, seeing as it was self defense and he was the one gave me the gun in the first place; there would just be some paperwork to be done and reports made, as was custom for _everything_.

"Try not to talk to too many people about this, we don't want the press breathing down our necks this early. We don't want any processes compromised either, just in case, so be careful what you say. And to who. You know the drill." Said Gordon, "It's for your safety, too." He added, almost as an afterthought, but too serious to be left unconsidered.

"Yeah, I get it." I replied, "Don't want to go asking for attention."

"Exactly. Now get some rest, hear me? I imagine you've got a busy day tomorrow."

"Yeah, yeah. Facing the peril of worried amigos. I'll be alright." I smiled

He flashed a smile back, "I hope so, that Erick kid might flip a shit."

I chuckled, "You're probably right." _He already did._

* * *

><p>Chapter 2 awwright! I'm excited. Thanks so much for reading, dear! Comments are always appreciated, of course.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

**What Doesn't Kill You...**

_Might just bore you to death later  
><em>**  
><strong>

After Gordon left I could barely keep my eyes open, for someone who had slept for nearly an entire day already, I felt almost unreasonably tired. With nothing better to do, and two more days in this sterile, sharp smelling, white room staring me in the face, I fell asleep after much fidgeting and attempts to shut off my wired brain. I've always hated that about my head, I can be dead tired but stay awake for hours without being able to push my thoughts aside. Oh well. That's life for you.

Eventually, I woke without realizing that I had ever managed to get into a dreamless sleep. Subconsciously I was thankful for having not dreamt; who knows what—or who, actually. Who was what I was worried about—my mind would've conjured up.

Beside me, on the table, I found a small stack of papers. I swung the top of the small table over my lap and grabbed my cell phone to check the time: 4:37 pm. _Damn_, I thought, _no wonder I feel gross_. Putting the phone back down, I brought my attention to the papers. A sticky note sat atop the neat pile.

"Thought you might want something to do.

Gordon"

I peeled of the note and prayed that it was a coloring book. A girl can dream, can't she?

I sighed as the knowledge of the fact that the seemingly harmless papers in front of me were actually paper_work_ instantly made the stack ten times larger. Begrudgingly and cursing the legal system I picked up the pen and began working my way through the tedious and repetitive questionnaire.

The minutes nonchalantly ticked by one by one. I found myself looking at the clock much more than was probably healthy for me, my hand cramping when I tried to write too fast. I wanted to get it over with, but it felt like no matter how many pages I finished and was able to turn over the pile just wouldn't get any smaller. A few times I gave up and plopped myself back onto the pillows, only to find that there was nothing else to do but stare at the wall.

Nothing was on TV aside from crappy reality shows and overly melodramatic soap operas, which I actually tried watching. About ten minutes into the first episode of "_The Tragic Injustice of Theodora Brown" _I was ready to rip my hair out and almost gladly went back to the busywork. The key word being _almost_.

I was finally saved at around six thirty when a nurse brought me dinner from the hospital cafeteria. Yum, right? Not that I really cared, I was starving. I shoved plastic flavored mashed potatoes and a dry Salisbury steak drowning in a suspicious liquid that may or may have not been gravy down my throat and tried not to drool over the cup of chocolate pudding included on the tray. After I was finished with the food I washed it down with the tap water on end table beside the bed, readjusted, and continued working on the stack of papers which had actually shrunk down to only a few sheets.

Thirty more minutes of writing, signing, and rolling my eyes at ridiculous questions and I was finished. I dropped my pen dramatically and collapsed back down onto the pillows, whispering "Good lord, _never again._"

* * *

><p>Sorry that was a bit short and uneventful, but I suppose something is better than nothing, right?<p> 


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